Take Out The Gunman

8

Dean caught a case the following morning, which kept him and Garth on the run for the next few days. He was hunting down suspects and witnesses and following leads late into the evening, and arriving home exhausted. He picked up take-out on those nights, in lieu of cooking at home, for him and Sam. To his relief, his new roommate seemed to be more comfortable in his apartment – Sam didn't lock himself away in his room all day every day.

The case was, thankfully, wrapped up in only a couple of days. The murder suspect was brought in Thursday afternoon and had written and signed a confession by Thursday night. The confession came right after Garth had revealed that the man's face had been plastered all over the video feed of a gas station where he had shot and killed his ex-girlfriend and her fiancé.

It was close almost 10 p.m. when Dean entered his apartment that night. He closed and locked the door behind him and moved through the place. He had just draped his suit jacket over the back of the couch when sudden movement had him stepping backward in surprise. He was reaching for the gun on his hip when he realized it was Sam: the younger man had been lying on the couch. He exhaled and dropped his hand away from his gun as the other shot him a sleepy smile.

"Hi Dean."

"Hey Sammy," Dean moved around the couch to drop down next to the younger man, "Sorry if I woke you."

"I was waiting up for you," Sam glanced at him before shifting his gaze away to look at the floor, "I guess I fell asleep."

Dean shot the kid a smile and said, "That's okay. It's kind of late." He couldn't help but chuckle as the kid rubbed his eyes. "Go back to sleep, kiddo. I'm hitting the sack myself. I'm off tomorrow so we can hang out then." Sam shot him a shy smile and nodded in compliance. Dean winked at him – he couldn't stop the grin that crossed his features as a flush touched Sam's cheeks and the younger man glanced away. He reached over and brushed a stray lock of Sam's hair away from his forehead – the other's eyes slid closed at the touch – and murmured, "Night, Sammy."

"G'night, Dean."

Dean woke the next morning to the smell of bacon. He blinked and sat up in his bed, glancing at the empty space next to him. Had he brought home someone last night who decided bacon would be good at – He glanced at the clock, which read 8:23 a.m. No, he had worked late last night. He shoved himself out of the bed and padded out of the bedroom, in the direction of the kitchen.

Dean entered the kitchen and spotted his new roommate standing in front of the stove. Sam was staring at a pan of frying bacon on the front burner with a look of intense concentration. The young man started as Dean spoke, "Trying your hand at cooking?"

Dean took in Sam's startled features as the boy (young man, his mind mentally corrected) turned to look at him. The other looked both sheepish and nervous, and rubbed his hands together in front of him in a nervous gesture.

"I – I hope it's okay," Sam motioned to the stove behind him, "For me to do this, I mean."

"Yeah, absolutely," Dean assured, shooting the younger man a smile, "I want you to make yourself at home while you're here, Sammy." Another smile, this one more shy.

"I thought I would try to fix you breakfast," Sam turned his attention back to the food so he could flip the bacon in the pan, "You've been cooking for me after you work and stuff and you're a good cook, but it didn't seem fair that you're doing everything."

The detective shot the other a smile as Sam glanced in his direction, cheeks flushed in embarrassment. "I appreciate that. Thanks, Sammy," he moved to stand behind the younger man so he could peer over his shoulder at the cooking food. The aroma was – well, it was bacon, therefore it was amazing. His gaze met Sam's as the other glanced over his shoulder at him. His eyes dropped to Sam's mouth as the other licked his lips (probably nervous due to his close proximity, his mind would later supply); he jerked his gaze away and stepped back as he realized what he was doing. "I'm going to take a quick shower," he muttered, running a hand through his hair, "I'll be right back."